


Soulmates (Passionflower)

by PrincesaPetalito



Category: Junior Express (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Trans Francis, almost kinda sorta coffee shop AU I never did before, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 19:27:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21730699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincesaPetalito/pseuds/PrincesaPetalito
Summary: The Grand Chef Arnoldo is 55,owner of a large,incredibly succesful chain of Italian restaurants all over the world.Francis is 15,an underpaid bartender at a dingy,filthy bar....coincidently owned by an old friend/affair of Arnoldo's.Arnoldo and Francis feel absolutely broken,hopelesss and miserable at the moment.They are complete strangers to each other.But they won't be for very long.
Relationships: Arnoldo/Francis (Junior Express)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Soulmates (Passionflower)

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to keep noted that I started writing this some days BEFORE they broke the news about the spinoff series which caught everyone off guard,including me.  
> Anyway this is mostly practice after more than a month without writing anything,this 2nd person point of view thing is really creepy and fun to do.

You huff and sigh wearily to yourself,glancing down one last time at the nearly pristine table in front of you and scrubbing at it even harder.

Thick brows furrowed together,you squint at the newly clean,smooth surface which nearly reflects your charming features as if it personally offended you,you can swear it still looks dirty,grimy and dusty beyond repair despite your better efforts.

You can simply just tell it still smells heavily of coffee,cigarettes and alcohol.

You can feel it in your _bones_ ,doesn't matter if you never tasted any of these things not even once in your entire short lifetime.

Unfortunately,it's inevitable,those are your boss' favorite things in the world after all.

They are as disgusting as he is,if you dare to be truly honest to yourself.

You rarely ever do these days.

You shudder involuntarily,shooting a quick,weary glance at the (most definitely) old,worn out clock by the farthest wall,it's almost midnight,you want to cry,you are not even halfway done here.

It's the perfectionist in you,you hate yourself for being like this,you can already tell you will be here overnight...

 _Again_.

He left _hours_ ago with his pretty boy of the night,you barely bother with their names and faces anymore,some of them even find you cute and flirt with you occasionally but you just don't have the cash to support their.... 'Sugar Daddy seeking' lifestyle.

What really matters is that you're not actually "boy enough" for _him_ and you're immensely grateful for that every single day of your life,honestly.

Still it only means way more work being thrown your way,ugly slurs to top it off.

They no longer hurt as much as they used to or at least that's what you try to tell yourself every single day.

You are so very lucky,aren't you,Francis?

You grip the yellow rag in your hand even tighter,you don't know for how long you have been at this exact same place,scrubbing furiously at the very same spot,on the verge of tears.

You should use them to finish cleaning the tables.

No matter how many hours and how many shifts you take at this dreary,disgusting place or how much of your slimy boss you have to endure.

It's just never enough to pay your rent or your bills.

You seem to earn barely enough to eat and survive as is.

You are so,so tired,you wonder if any of this is worth it at all.

You wonder if there could be any sort of escape.

You are only 15,you don't want to die yet,you have so many dreams,you are so talented,sweet and kind.

At least it's what _some_ customers and your few friends tell you,you believe them....for the most part,you _know_ you have the potential to be and do more than this.

Yet this job is sucking the soul out of your body every second you pretend to still be alive.

Soon,there will be nothing left,no will to live,no reason to stay.

But what can you do? Your parents and your "family" will never accept you as you are,they kicked you out,you're no longer welcomed at the home you once thought lived the people who loved you most.

You were severely wrong,they only loved the idea of you they already had projected in their heads.

You are a boy but they don't see it that way.

They never will.

And life just has to go on.

Or.....

You bite your bottom lip hard,hard enough to bruise,yet not hard enough to draw blood just yet as you fight back tears,hands shaking terribly,struggling to mantain a grip.

Of both the table and what's left of your will to live.

You don't know why you're even holding back,the place is empty,right about to close,in fact,it's a Tuesday night,there is not a single soul here.

Not even yours.

You suddenly jump back,startled out of your deep,dark thoughts,heart racing in your heaving chest as the bell by the door rings loudly in your ears,signaling that someone just walked in.

You paralyze in place,inhaling and exhaling sharply,not quite letting go of the rag just yet.

Oddly enough,you realize the entire place is gradually starting to smell like strawberries and peaches,you're not sure what to make of that.

It would be really useful if one of your boss' wine bottles were still lying around right about now....

Calm down,Francis! Maybe it's not a thief,a burglar or an assassin....

_This time._

At least the place smells nice and pleasant now,not even your best efforts had managed that feat before,it's addicting, _intoxicating_.... 

In the _best_ way.

Still it _could_ just be another poor homeless person or a very unfortunate sex worker looking for a place to stay for the night.

By the nearly sickeningly sweet perfume,you're banking on the latter.

Melody _have_ had better days,you suppose.... 

You..... technically can't let anyone stay here.

But you are a _teenager_ ,after all,you always have a way to find loopholes and bend the laws to your will.

Even if only to benefit everyone but yourself by the end of the day.

You find yourself hiding behind an old,designer couch,it's as tidy and clean as you could get it to be,really.

Yet the ghost memories are responsible for eternally keeping it dirty and filthy.

Matching the soul of the man who owns it.

You scoff and roll your eyes, _as if he had one._

You observe the mysterious visitor as they stroll through this gloomy place with unsure yet confident,nonchalant and also rather elegant steps.

The light is low,you can't see them all that well from down here,but you can figure out pretty quickly that they seem to be wearing a large,dark red coat and a blue hat,dark,wavy hair that reached their shoulders,they look to be around your own rather short height but unlike you,they are very round and overweight,they're still undoubtedly pretty rich and classy nonetheless.

They don't look like someone you should be even on the same plane of existence as them.

Then why are they here?! At this end of the world of all places?!

You're very afraid something bad might come from this unexpected customer,perhaps they have people waiting on their every word outside to rob this place or explode the whole thing in the air altogether.

Yet you're still very intrigued by this entire situation however.

Whoever this is doesn't seem like a direct threat just yet,they simply appear to be looking around for someone to attend them.

That's your cue,go Francis!

You do not move a single muscle from behind the couch.

Come on! 

Worst outcome? You could die.

Isn't that what you wanted just a few minutes ago?

You frantically shake your head no,hunching in on yourself,biting your bottom lip once again and running your fingers through the dusty rag on your arm.

From the deepest corner of your heart you know it to not really be true.

You're absolutely _certain_ you're a _complete_ fool for thinking like this but you still hope for anyone who can hear your thoughts out there that life has much more to offer than this.

Oh,Francis...

Francis,Francis,Francis....

You _are_ but a hopelesss fool indeed.

You fall back on the ground from your hunching position as the person gets impatient and starts to relentlessly slap the small bell by the counter,shouting loud and clear for someone, _anyone_ to attend them.

More especifically,the person is calling _your_ _boss_ ' name.

Yes,no good can come from this indeed.

You stand up slowly with trembling legs,rushedly fixing your red vest,blue apron,black bowtie and white sleeves,licking the inside of your cheeks in anticipation as you roam your hand stiffly through your thick,gelled curls to make sure they're flawlessly in place and presentable.

It's a raspy,husky,straight up hypnotizing tone of voice with a strong,evident,downright _demanding_ Italian accent.

You are somewhat taken aback but only because the saccarine sweet perfume,the way the man carries himself _and_ the sinfully sensual voice don't really seem to match the same person at all.

Still it's a voice so sexy,you want to follow every single command it demands from you.

A melody so _enticing_ and _magnetic_ it's pulling your body forward,so curious to see who this is up close and fall to their feet.

See if they're as sexy as they smell and sound.

No matter how dangerous that decision may be.

You've literally got nothing to lose.

Right now,that voice requires your full,undivided attention.

And you might as well just give it to them.

* * *

Time seemed to fly by as you found yourself laughing awkwardly,involuntarily hunching in on yourself and pulling at your long sleeves,sitting stiff and straight like a board,already turned on out of your mind sharing a booth with _him_.

He was relentlessly handsy,sitting probably way too close for comfort too and you're usually not a big fan of being touched or people getting on your personal space like this but _this time_ you're pleasantly surprised to realize you're not really minding any of this at all.

You are simply _loving_ and enjoying way too much the already unforgettable feeling of having his soft,expansive,robust body practically squished into your much smaller frame.

His strawberries and peaches scented perfume and shampoo taking over your entire being,you feel like you can hardly breathe,you're enchanted,deeply intoxicated by his mere presence alone.

You can't bring yourself to care as long as his roaming,clever,large,naughty hands never stop feeling up your whole body,your thick arms,your broad shoulders,slim hips,creamy thighs,soft jaw,he can't get enough of you,grabbing,groping and squeezing as he sees fit every single inch of you he can reach.

You wish he'd allow you the great honor and privilege of reciprocating his lust driven,frantic actions by getting to touch his large,round,gorgeous body all over as well.

But you're so awkward,shy and not as experienced as you'd like to admit,you would be an embarassment in front of _him,_ this absolute _god_ of expert hands and cuisine who's obviously excellent at every single move he does while outright looking oblivious to the things his rough yet calculated touch is doing to your psyque.

So naturally,letting your nervousness,overall awkwardness and lack of experience compared to _him_ show through and ruin the entire mood as he runs his eager,explorative fingers all over your smooth yet rather tense body and sweet talks you is the last thing you want to happen right now.

He roughly pulls your leg over one of his soft,thick thighs,unceremoniously massaging,squeezing and smacking the smooth surface,biting his bottom lip in an obscene manner,grinning maliciously,squinting his deceiving dark eyes and holding eye contact with you as he directed sweet yet very lewd praises at you,you bite back a groan from the back of your throat,looking down at your leg locked with his,trying to busy your hands by dusting away cookie crumbs from his expensive looking red suit,not that accidentally brushing against the sizable swells of his large chest.

You are so shamefully wet already,your round,usually pale cheeks tainted in pink as you display a nervous,gap-toothed smile,fighting the strong urge to desperately grind down on him and touch him more thoroughly.

You started simple,honestly.You were both drinking passionflower tea,eating strawberry shortcake cookies and sprinkled donuts as he laid his own troubles,sorrows and hardships on you.

He was actually _very_ picky about how he wanted every single one of the things he ordered from you and your chest had tightened,anxious and eager to please each and every one of his deepest desires.

 _His_ name is Arnoldo,he is very obviously Italian as you initially suspected and a well known Grand Chef also.

At least it's what he already told you several times in the span of less than 30 minutes,again,you don't mind as much as you probably should,you just adore his voice so much,you could listen to him talking for days,no matter what he says it's like sweet honey tea to your ears...

You were very amused by the fact he appeared to be rather bashful,uncomfortable and even dissatisfied at first,clearly not happy that _Giuliano_ ,your boss aka the person Arnoldo specifically came looking for,wasn't really here.

The fact the Grand Chef had just come back from a date gone disastrously wrong with some snobby food critic woman didn't help matters either,he was angry,upset and miserable,looking for someone from his past to hopefully brighten his day and make things hurt a little less.

You're absolutely sure Giuliano is far from being the right person for this very delicate job,you don't know Arnoldo for too long but you can simply tell how smart,charming,talented he is (not even counting unbelievably handsome too) and with a strong,determined,fierce personality to top it all off.

It's not hard to tell even _Arnoldo_ deserves better.

Also Giuliano was long gone and you didn't want to bother him this late,by now it didn't look like his absence was bothering Arnoldo all that much anymore anyway,since he was _clearly_ very busy.....throwing his Irresistible charm and most of his massive weight (in every sense of the word) on you.

As if you weren't falling hard before you even got to see him properly,he is stunningly gorgeous and you want him to crush you under his weight right here and now.

That literally sounds like the best way to die now,doesn't it? 

He's literally 40 years older than you,owns a worldwide famous chain of Fancy Italian Restaurants,you have no idea how you never heard of him before.

He is clearly Royalty in your eyes even if he wasn't _supposedly_ famous.

He has soft,bright brown wavy hair,enchanting,mysterious dark black eyes,a beyond charming mustache over his rosy pink lips,alluring,confident breathtaking smile as he mostly force feeds you the donuts and cookies rather than eat them himself.

That small,odd detail in his agitated behavior did not go completely unnoticed by you no matter how much he was distracting you by continously gripping and squeezing your arm and shoulder,pulling you even closer if that was possible,occasionally running his firm hand down your waist and thigh.

He was the one doing most- _all_ of the talking,really,he'd ask you something,unintentionally interrupt you and just keep talking about his job,how stressful it is,how he has to do everything himself,his love life,how nothing seems to ever go his way.....

How lonely he has been and how he might never find the stable,everlasting partner he wished for so very long.

How he used to be so naive and foolish for believing an undeniably delirious myth such as soulmates could exist.

Your breath hitches in your throat as his thick yet delicate fingers trace around the visible veins on your neck,an urge deep within you that you didn't know existed wishes badly that he would squeeze it with all his might,making it impossible for you to breathe or ever escape him.

It doesn't happen though,you exhale sharply and bite your lip,trying not to let your disappointment show too much as his fingers go up your soft chin then grabbing ruthlessly at your right cheek,patting the heated,pale surface firmly,Arnoldo smirks mischievously,scooting you much closer,so close your body is practically laying on top of his gorgeous,huge belly as you find yourself face to face with _him_ ,you are both heavy breathing as if you ran a marathon,you're adoring the friction his stomach provokes,moving rapidly under you as he breathes rushed and shallow.

He forcibly pulls your face forward,towards his own large and round one,he kisses your lips slowly,tentatively yet passionately as if you were long lost lovers.

You quickly get used to the rough feeling of his mustache scratching against your delicate face as he gets to patiently map every single inch and corner of your mouth with his eager tongue,he tastes like fresh strawberries and cookies, _of course he does,_ you think to yourself as obscene,involuntary moans escape your thin lips.

Not as outright sinful as the sounds _he's_ making though.

He's perfect,he's everything you never knew you needed or wanted.

His kiss gets urgent,fervent and more desperate as time goes on,he bites your bottom lip hard and shoves your face away for both you to catch your breath yet not long after you feel him mouthing,leaving light kisses and small bites on the sensitive skin of your neck while his hands keep on roaming through your body as if he has the intention of memorizing all of it too.

Still you can tell he's holding back,you really _really_ wish he wouldn't.

You'd feel honored to be marked all over your smooth,soft skin by _him_.

It doesn't take long for Arnoldo to roughly place you on his lap and have you grinding frantically,obscenely down on him,he's clearly huge down there also and evidently rock hard,he certainly _likes_ you,of that you're absolutely sure.

You don't know if it's your dazed,clouded,lust-filled mind talking but you wish very deeply in your heart that you could be the soulmate he was never able to find all his life.

Or you could just be as desperate for a escape from the world (even if just for one night) as the Italian Chef very obviously is.

Arnoldo pulls you in for another heated kiss as he roughly grips your thick,curly hair back,making you cry out involuntarily,mouth opening wide for him to ravish,practically making you see stars dancing in front of your very blurred,hazy,darkened olive green eyes.

At this exact moment you realize you very obviously are.

**Author's Note:**

> Of course this was supposed to lead to more and I always get frustrated when writers are this tame but I'm uncharacteristically not in the mood for it these past days,would you believe?!  
> Perhaps this funk will pass and Arnoldo might even take his newly acquired waiter home like I originally intended.  
> I'm not a big fan of choking as a kink,but we all know who certainly is....


End file.
